Page 26 of Defending What is Mine

Chapter Thirteen

Sam:Then—Last August

On an average day, it’s typically a two-hour drive to the airport, traffic depending. Of course, nothing about today is typical. The one time I actually want the drive to drag out, we’re on track to arrive twenty minutes early, setting a new land speed record in the process. On a scale of bad to awful, how wrong is it if I secretly pray for a horrible accident ahead? I know, I know, but it’s not Jack’s fault if he misses his flight because of an accident. Right?

I’m sorry, it’s just not enough. I need more time. This can’t be the end. I’m not ready to say goodbye!

Maybe, if we park and walk with him to the security line? I bet we could pick up another ten minutes or so.

I glance over at Jack as he continues trying to patiently explain his job, and the Army in general, to Vanessa. I wonder if she were more interested in what he does, would she better comprehend the risks and sacrifices he makes each time he deploys? And then I see the way she looks at him. The trust in her eyes. The happiness I’ve noticed radiating from her whenever he’s around. And I understand, because I feel it too.

How is this even possible? It’s been a grand total of two weeks.

Already, Jack is my favorite thought, my favorite feeling, my favorite taste. These last fourteen days have been the best of my life, and it’s all because of him. The question I have to ask is, does he feel the same? And what do we do while he’s gone for the next six months? And yes, I realize I just asked two questions when I said I wanted to ask one, but cut a girl some slack, please. There’s a lot going on.

“Remember that, Sam?” Jack squeezes my hand as he cranes his neck to see Vanessa in the backseat. “Sheesh, the look on his face. I’ll never forget it if I live to be a hundred.”

“What’s that?” I ask, oblivious to the ongoing conversation.

“Vanessa’s party. Remember? When Hank was trying to sneak into the bouncy house and the clown caught him with his boots in his hand. Tell me you didn’t forget that already. I’ve never seen a grown man get yelled at by a clown before. The entire thing was just so surreal, you know?”

I smile and nod but when Vanessa loses herself to a case of the giggles, I can’t keep from laughing too.

“Hank always does silly stuff,” Vanessa says through her giggles.

“He’s always entertaining. Your brother.” I turn and catch Jack’s profile, the strong jaw exposed by a clean shave, high cheekbones that accentuate kind eyes. I drink him in, memorizing everything about this moment.

Jack shakes his head. “I don’t know, watching a racoon make a mess out of someone else’s garbage might be funny, but when it happens to yours it loses something.”

After she and I regain control of our breathing, Vanessa asks me to turn on the radio. When I switch it on, it’s like the entire damn universe is sending a message. A message aimed directly at Jack and me. Of all the stations, and all the timing in all the world—we just happen to turn on a channel in the middle of a love song marathon? And then, we just happen to catch the very beginning of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” (the UB40 cover not the Elvis Presley version, but still). Really? That’s a coincidence? I don’t think so. There’s just no way.

At first, Jack is all smiles and head bobs. But as he and I sing along with the chorus, we happen to make eye contact and I watch as a glint of fear flashes across his face. How do I know? For starters, because less than a second later his volume drops to barely more than a hum, and he turns his focus out the window instead.

What the hell am I supposed to do with that? Does it mean he feels the same way I do, but is embarrassed by it? Or, he doesn’t want anything to do with feelings like that and doesn’t want me getting the wrong idea?

The car goes quiet for the next couple of songs, sending my anxiety skyrocketing. Until I change stations, anyway. That’s when Jack looks over at me like I kicked his puppy. “Hey, what’s the matter?”

Now utterly confused, I give my full attention to him. “Nothing. Why?”

“‘Truly, Madly, Deeply’ is a classic. You have something against Savage Garden?”

I don’t have anything against Savage Garden, but listening to those songs was making me feel things I’m not sure Jack wants me to feel. And if he doesn’t want me to feel them, the last thing I want to do is feed the emotional beast growing inside me. “You got quiet and I thought it was because you didn’t want to listen to a bunch of dumb love songs.”

He slides his hand over and places it on my knee. “I never really paid much attention to them before. I’d only listen if I liked the beat, or whatever. But…”

I gesture for him to continue. “But…?”

He doesn’t move his hand from my leg, but he does break eye contact again, this time so he can stare at the floor—apparently whatever’s happening down there is too interesting to resist. “Sam, listen…” He glimpses Vanessa listening intently from the back and falls quiet again.

I take a hand off the wheel and place it on his. “Come on, cat got your tongue?”

When he finally looks over, his face is pensive. Telling of so many things left unspoken. “Sometimes, timing really sucks, you know?”

Hope rises in my chest, filling me with light and infusing me with energy at the same time anxiety rockets through my veins. I couldn’t agree more, but I don’t want to read too much into his statement.

And then it happens.

With his next few words, he gives voice to so many thoughts and feelings that have swirled around us both for the past week, like a storm blown in off the ocean.

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